


(i know) it's alive and somewhere for us to find tonight

by Edgebug



Series: Half-Light 'verse [5]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Anime Conventions, Arguably Sentient Elven Technomagic, Coming Out, Cosplay, Cultural Misunderstandings, Dirigibles, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Sportacus Backstory, Weddings, parties that last three days, robbie gets to stretch his disguising muscles, secret relationship becoming not-secret-anymore, sportacus is an introvert, unconventional shovel talks, weird Elven customs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 02:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10584699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: "Sportacus, your family is amazing!" Stephanie says, enthused, eyes wide. "I had no idea they were visiting!""Me neither," Sportacus says with an almost apologetic smile. "It is a, ah, surprise visit."Stephanie blinks. Stingy raises an eyebrow. "All of them at once? Visiting by surprise?" he asks, voice laden with skepticism. Pixel tilts his head and looks at Sportacus over his visor, curious."You're telling me," Trixie says, "that a bazillion elves showed up outta nowhere for no reason?"(In which there is a very big miscommunication, and Robbie and Sportacus roll with it.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> after 84 years, installment #5 of half-light verse gets posted //smashes champagne bottle

Robbie is working--putting finishing touches on an ornate gown--when his phone rings.

His phone ringing isn't exactly a common occurrence. It's not as uncommon as it _used_ to be before he and Sportacus started seeing each other, but even so--usually if Sportacus or one of the kids wants to get hold of him, they'll just show up at his bunker hatch rather than call him.

He sets down his needle and spool of filigree trim and leans over to pick up the phone. "Hello?" he says, cautiously. It could be a wrong number, or a telemarketer, or something--in which case Robbie would hang up immediately and go back to work.

"Robbie!"

Robbie relaxes at Pixel's familiar voice. "Hi," he says, and doesn't have the chance to say anything else before Pixel is speaking.

"Um, so, SCCC is coming up and I wanted to cosplay and I don't really know how to sew at all so I was wondering if you'd help me with my outfit?"

Robbie blinks. "...You wanted to do what where?"

"Seven Cities Comic Con! It's a convention for anime and video games and comics and stuff."

"Huh," Robbie says, "and what did you want to do there?"

"Oh, cosplay, like--like dressing up as someone else, a character from a--"

"A disguise?" Robbie's feet tap automatically in excitement. Now this? This, he can do. "You're asking me to help you with a disguise?"

"Um, kinda, yeah," Pixel says. "I figured since that's kinda your thing maybe you could--"

"Come over right away! It's disguise time!" Robbie shouts into the receiver, and he hears Pixel giggling before he hangs up.

 

-

 

Pixel shows up within ten minutes. "So I wanna dress up as Cloud Strife from Final Fantasy," he says, "and I don't even know where to begin!"

"I'm sure we can get it done," Robbie says with a smug and supremely self-assured grin, "what does this character look like?"

Pixel taps a few buttons on his wrist computer and brings up an image. It's a drawing of a tall man in an absurd amount of black clothing and buckles and...oh, wow, that's a complicated shoulder piece, and... "I don't know how to make the sword," Pixel says, and Robbie cringes.

"You want the sword too?! It's as tall as he is!"

"Well, yeah, that's the problem, how're we going to make it light enough for me to carry around the convention?"

Robbie thinks with a sinking feeling that he may have accidentally signed up for more than he'd been anticipating, but when it comes to disguises he's no quitter. "We'll figure it out," he says, "first we have to get materials, so--it's shopping time!"

 

-

 

"So when's the convention?" Robbie asks later that afternoon. He's got the pants done already, those were easy enough, and he's working on sewing the shirt now. The hard parts will be the gauntlets, shoulder piece, inexplicable stomach armor and boots--not to mention the sword.

"Tomorrow," Pixel says with a sheepish half-smile and Robbie lets out a screech of horror before he can stop himself.

"Tomorrow?!" he gasps out. "The convention is tomorrow and you asked me for help _today at two PM?_ good Gods, Pixel, what were you thinking, waiting this long?!"

"I had other things to do!" he defends, worried. "Do you think we can get it done?"

"Yes, but--oh, hell," he swears, "yes, I can. I didn't want to sleep tonight anyway," he grumbles. "Listen, you get started on the gauntlets, okay? Can you 3D print them?"

"Yeah! Great idea!" Pixel absolutely lights up. "Let me get started on modeling those!"

Robbie's about to say something like 'doesn't 3D modeling take a long time?' before he remembers that Pixel probably does stuff like this in his sleep. The kid dashes off and Robbie cracks his knuckles before returning to his sewing. This is going to be a long night, but it'll be worth it. The kid is going to have a hell of a costume.

It takes four hours to get the pants and shirt finished and Robbie moves on to the armor and belts. He hasn't worked with vinyl like this in years, but he's pretty sure that fake leather will take paint better than real leather would. He's just sewing the whole thing together when Pixel dashes back in with a laptop. "Does this model look right to you?" he asks anxiously, pointing to the screen.

"Pixel, you astonish me, get that printed at once," he crows, then "a-ha! When does the hardware store close?!"

"The hardware store? Let me look it up, why?"

"I've figured out how to do your sword!"

"They close at 8," Pixel says.

"It's 7:30 now!" Robbie grabs Pixel's wrist and drags him toward the hatch. "Come on, kid, we have to run!"

 

-

 

Robbie's bunker is covered with foam scraps, pieces of wood, hot glue sticks, and splotches of acrylic gesso. They've found patterns for the sword and are now cutting pieces out of pink insulation foam and it's messier than Robbie had anticipated by a lot. Pieces of it float in the air and litter the ground, fluttering around when even the slightest puff of air hits them.

"I'm pretty sure I just inhaled some foam," Pixel sniffs.

"Yeah, yeah, well, it's gonna look great. I've got this under control, you start printing, okay?"

"You sure?"

"Positive, now get out of here." Pixel dashes off and scrambles up the ladder and out of the bunker. Robbie sighs deeply and returns to the sword. "Why did he have to pick the only character in the world with a sword the size of the damn continent," he grumbles, shaking his head as he painstakingly carves the foam into shape.

It's definitely heartwarming though that Pixel came to him for help. Robbie smiles at the very thought, and mentally resolves to make sure Pixel asks him for assistance well in advance next time.

It's almost meditative work, slicing the foam into sharp edges, and he spaces out for a little while until--

"Robbie?"

That's not Pixel's voice. "Sportacus!" Robbie greets, looking up to find Sportacus climbing out of the tunnel into his living room. His heart sings at the sight of him, which is ridiculous, but true. "Hey!"

"Robbie," Sportacus says, eyes wide as he takes in the wreckage scattered thick and haphazard around Robbie's living room, "what is all of this?"

"It's called 'cosplay,' apparently," Robbie says. "Pixel asked for help with a costume that he wants to wear to some convention. And it's tomorrow."

"Oh! How wonderful," Sportacus says, a wide smile lighting up his features and bringing infectious warmth to Robbie's chest. "I was wondering where you were, I thought you'd be in the airship tonight, and you didn't appear so I thought I'd check on you."

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't think it was that late," Robbie says. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten," Sportacus says, "how close are you to being done with this project?"

"Uh... Hard to say," Robbie ventures, "could be two hours, could be--"

"Sportacus? What are you doing here?"

Now _that's_ Pixel's voice. He's climbed down the hatch and is holding what looks like a first attempt at a printed gauntlet. "Oh!" Sportacus says with a grin, "because you and Robbie needed help, obviously! Putting together a costume on such short notice is difficult, after all," he says, and Robbie grins.

"Well, six hands are better than four," Robbie says, and Pixel looks uncertain of Sportacus's motives for being here but rolls with it anyway. "Make yourself useful, Sportaflop, grab some paint and get to work."

Within minutes Sportacus is busily aging the faux-leather armor with black acrylic paint and Pixel is sanding down rough 3D-printed edges and Robbie is still carving away bits of foam, and he's starting to think maybe they'll get this damn costume finished.

 

-

 

It's 2:30 AM and Sportacus is asleep on the floor, sprawled out on his side and curled with his head resting on his arms. He made it all the way to 11:30 PM, which was honestly longer than Robbie thought he'd be able to hold out, so he's rather impressed.

The sword, though, is done. As are the gauntlets, and the shoulder piece, and everything else. Pixel looks dead on his feet but proud as he tries everything on.

"You look perfect," Robbie says proudly, and Pixel grins.

"Thank you so much, Robbie," Pixel says, "I don't know what I'd do without you!"

Sportacus snuffles quietly and curls up a little tighter. Robbie holds a finger to his lips and speaks in a hushed tone. "It's no problem," he says, softly, "now get out of here. You'd better get at least a little sleep before tomorrow."

Pixel hugs Robbie tightly before he leaves, props in tow. Robbie sighs, satisfied, stares around the room at the disaster area that's been created. Garbage and scraps of foam and plastic and fabric are scattered from hell to breakfast; it's going to be a pain in the ass to clean up.

"A problem for tomorrow," he says, decisively, dusting off his hands and crouching down next to Sportacus. "Hey, Sportakook," he says, laying a hand on his shoulder, "bedtime."

Sportacus mumbles something incoherent, eyelids fluttering but not opening.

"Sportacus, c'mon."

"'M in bed," Sportacus supplies, still not opening his eyes.

"No, you're on the floor, and you can't sleep on the floor, you'll get a crick in your neck and you won't be able to do any flips come morning."

Finally Sportacus opens his eyes, bleary and still half-asleep. Mechanically he climbs to his feet and makes his way over to Robbie's chair, flopping into it and closing his eyes once more. Robbie's honestly unsure whether Sportacus actually woke up at all during that entire interaction.

Robbie changes into his pajamas and turns off the lights in the bunker, grabs his small blanket and large comforter before he makes his way to the chair and settles in next to his fiancé. "Good night, Sportaflop, I love you," he murmurs, kisses him on the forehead.

Sportacus mumbles something back that might have been _good night, love you_ in a previous life, but now only sounds like a jumble of slurred consonants. The meaning comes across loud and clear, though, especially when Sportacus nuzzles up against Robbie's neck in his sleep and flings an arm over his waist.

 

-

 

Robbie awakens in the morning when he feels Sportacus waking up--the elf moves and shifts the closer he gets to consciousness. He smiles, watches as Sportacus yawns and blinks and stretches as much as their positioning in the chair will allow. Finally his eyes open and stay open, and he smiles brightly when he notices that Robbie's awake.

"Good morning, Robbie," Sportacus says, voice rough with sleep.

Robbie smiles back and kisses him quickly. "Good morning," he replies. "We should get up. I don't think the kids should go to that convention alone."

"Mm," Sportacus hums, "do they all want to go?"

"According to Pixel, yes."

"Ah," Sportacus says, nodding. "How many people are going to be at this meeting? Is it just a lot of Pixel's computer friends, or--"

"It's a comic book convention, it's a little bigger than a _meeting_ , Sportakook," Robbie says. "People show up from all over. Pixel said that last year there were sixty thousand people."

Sportacus goes pale, a terrified look passing over his face. "Don't worry," Robbie says instantly, "you don't have to go, I have this under control."

Sportacus lets out a sigh of relief and closes his eyes. Not for the first time, Robbie remembers that for all of Sportacus's overt, outgoing friendliness and complete lack of anything resembling 'shyness', he's most definitely an introvert. He goes back up to his airship to be alone quite often, needing to recover and recharge after spending time with the kids. He loves them desperately and with unending devotion, but being with groups of people seems to sap energy from him and he has to recuperate from it--the kids are no exception. A convention hall filled with tens of thousands of strangers would be to Sportacus what running a marathon would be to any normal person.

"It's hard," he says, verifying Robbie's thoughts, "being near that large a crowd in a small space. Especially with my crystal," he says, tapping it. "It does not know when to quit."

"Sounds like someone I know," Robbie says teasingly, then adds "don't worry, Sportakook. I've got this. You stay here and enjoy your kid-free day."

Sportacus looks dubious. "What am I going to do all day?"

"I don't know," Robbie says, "write letters? Practice flips? Teach yourself capoeira? The world is your oyster."

"Capoeira does look interesting," Sportacus says, brightening up. "And you're right, I should write some letters! I haven't written to my mother and father in far too long."

"See, you'll have a great day. Or two. The convention lasts the weekend, I think Pixel has a hotel room."

"Will you be staying the night?"

"If the kids want to I will just to keep an eye on them," Robbie huffs. "Want me to bring you any souvenirs?"

Sportacus grins but shakes his head. "No, just have a good time."

"Oh, I'm sure," Robbie grumbles, pulling himself from the warm, comfortable chair and his warm, comfortable fiancé with substantial difficulty.

 

-

 

The bus ride out to the convention center in the next town over is a long affair and all the kids are absolutely jazzed. "I've never been to a convention!" Stephanie says, vibrating with excitement. "Do you think there'll be lots of other people dressed up?"

"Tons!" Pixel laughs, "there's always tons of cosplayers!"

Stingy sniffs. "I'm mainly there for the comics," he says, airily, "always some special-edition new-in-plastic first-runs I can get my hands on. They're going to be _mine._ "

"I've never been to a con either," Trixie says, "but why not, if everyone else is going."

"Pixel says they sell Japanese candy!" Ziggy squeaks, tugging at one of Robbie's shirt cuffs. "Can we get some?!"

"I'm always in favor of candy," Robbie says, "so yes."

Ziggy squeals in delight. The kid is dressed up in his full superhero outfit as usual, but judging by the outfits of the people getting on the bus, Robbie thinks Ziggy won't look too out of place.

 

-

 

The four older kids go off together, bidden to immediately call Robbie if they're separated or if something happens, and Ziggy stays at Robbie's side.

Or, well, Robbie stays at Ziggy's. The boy is dashing around the dealer's room making all sorts of loud, excited sounds as he sees this or that, pointing to plush toys and action figures and so many people dressed up as superheroes. Robbie kind of wishes he had one of those child leashes, suddenly seeing the use of such a device as he struggles to stay close to Ziggy in the crowd.

After the first half-hour he institutes a _don't run off_ rule, which Ziggy takes as an excuse to hold his hand and physically drag him hither and thither. By the time they make it to a booth that sells candy, Robbie's pretty sure he's sweated off half his body weight.

"Ooh! Robbie! Look!" Ziggy shrieks, pointing at a box of something brightly colored and covered in kanji print. "Can I have that?!"

"What is it?" Robbie manages, picking up the box.

"It's called pocky an' it's like a cookie stick covered in chocolate! Pixel says it's great!"

"Why do they want five bucks for a box this small," Robbie grumbles to himself. "Yes, of course you can have it."

Not seconds later and Ziggy is thrusting a small crinkly bag into Robbie's hands. "Look! I didn't even know they _made_ strawberry Kit-Kats!" he shouts in his excitement. "Can I have these too?!" Robbie looks down at the bag and nearly screams. Just that small bag of maybe twenty single Kit-Kats costs _fifteen dollars_. "Robbie?" Ziggy asks, apparently concerned, "are you okay?"

"My soul has escaped my body and ascended to a higher plane," he wheezes. "I'm peachy."

 

-

 

Robbie hadn't intended to drop so much money on candy at a comic convention, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, and when that man is one of the impromptu stand-in parents for a perpetually sugar high and agonizingly cute seven-year-old, well.

Well, he doesn't really need that $102.56 anyway. He feels _so_ much lighter and better without the money weighing down his wallet, of course.

They're outside the dealer's room now and sitting on the ground by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in a large hall that's wide and not too busy--people pass by constantly but not in huge crowds, so it's the quietest place they could find. Ziggy is laying his haul out in front of them and excitedly telling Robbie about superheroes or something.

Robbie frowns a bit down at the pile of candy. It seems like not very much for the amount of money he spent. He could go to the grocery store and buy a _mountain_ of candy for that much money. But, he supposes, at the grocery store he couldn't buy banana-chocolate flavored biscuit sticks, or whatever the hell Ziggy's picked out. It _does_ all look delicious, to be perfectly fair.

Ziggy's just opening the first box of whatever-it-is when a woman stops in front of them; she's wearing an insanely detailed costume, a dress with armored shoulders and chest, wings at her back and a crown atop her head. She looks like some beautiful, ethereal being, and Robbie can hear Ziggy gasp. She smiles down at them. "I love your costume!" she says to Ziggy, "I was wondering if I could get your picture?"

Ziggy almost trips over himself in his hurry to get to his feet to pose for her; Robbie meets the woman's eyes and grins when she winks at him.

 

-

 

The convention ends at noon the next day, which is perfectly fine with Robbie. He's operating on, he figures, less than four hours of sleep--shitty hotel couches are not conducive to a good night's rest. The kids hang around the convention center until around two, and they get on the bus at three or so.

Robbie's thankful that the ride is a little under an hour. The kids look exhausted too now that they're on the bus going home. Ziggy's flat out asleep and leaning against Robbie now, snoring softly; Stephanie and Trixie are holding plushies they bought and wearing matching cat ears, laughing at some comic they bought; Pixel is on his phone, thumbs tapping a mile a minute, probably tweeting about his convention experience, and Stingy is looking out the window and absently stroking a sizable pile of mylar-bagged comic books.

All in all, a success. Robbie's looking forward to going home, taking a shower, and sleeping for a week.

The tired group vacates the bus, each kid going toward their respective home with all their merchandise in tow. Robbie watches fondly, a faint smile on his features. "A job well done," he congratulates himself airily on the whole venture, turning neatly on his heel and heading for the cow billboard.

He doesn't manage two steps before Sportacus is bounding toward him out of nowhere, a frantic look in his eyes. "Robbie!" he gasps, skidding to a halt in front of him.

"Hello, Sportakook, don't worry, the kids are all fine, we had a lovely time--"

"Robbie, you can tell me all about it later but right now--look up!" Sportacus points to the sky and Robbie's eyes follow.

His jaw drops. A second dirigible hangs in the distance, closing in toward Lazytown at an alarming pace. "What?! Who?!" he splutters when words return to him.

"My parents," Sportacus says, "that's my parents' ship!"

There goes the possibility of a week of sleep. Robbie mentally mourns it for a moment. "Did you invite them?"

"No, I just--I told them about you, I wrote them yesterday," Sportacus says, "I told them we are engaged and--I forgot, marriage in the North is different, I forgot they wouldn't know how it is here!"

_Marriage is different in the North?_   "Sportacus, what--"

"In the North there is no engagement! The very moment two people decide to marry, they are married! It is often private, no specific ceremony--then there is a celebration."

"They're here for the celebration?"

"I think so, yes. Don't worry, I will explain everything to them."

"Oh Gods," Robbie says, terror striking him as the full implications of this hit. "Oh Gods, I'm meeting your parents."

"They will love you," Sportacus assures him, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder, "don't worry."

"Hhhh," Robbie manages weakly. "Let me. Let me go make myself presentable. I just spent two days at a convention and the dealer's room was hotter than the flames of--"

"There's no time, Robbie, they're almost here--you look beautiful, don't worry!" Sportacus grins and they both watch as the yellow and white airship settles next to Sportacus's.

"Oh Gods," Robbie says again, his very bones seeming to scream and itch with the urge to run away. He's never _done_ this before. He doesn't know _how_ to make a good impression. He knows how to make a _bad_ or _scary_ impression but he's a little lost on anything else. Characters he plays, now, _they_ can be charming and charismatic, but Robbie himself? He knows he doesn't exactly have a winning personality.

It still puzzles him how he's managed to hold on to a relationship with Sportacus for the past months. Sportacus's fingers entwine with Robbie's own and squeeze gently, and Robbie takes a deep breath, steels himself, and braces for impact.

A hatch at the bottom of the ship opens and down extends a set of stairs--not a ladder--and immediately descend a whole _gaggle_ of elves. "Sportacus!" one of them calls, then the rest chime in, voices layering over each other. There's at least eleven.

"Mammi! Pabbi!" Sportacus grins and bounds over, leaving Robbie in the dust and embracing the two older elves at the front of the pack. Sportacus is enveloped quickly by the rest of them; they're all tall, none shorter than Robbie himself and several taller; Sportacus is clearly the smallest.

The group is laughing and chattering and tousling Sportacus's hair and clapping him on the back and delivering hugs and it's actually cute to see Sportacus so happy and excited.

"Quiet, all quiet!" a female voice calls over the din; the group goes silent. The woman speaks again--the older one, Sportacus's mother? "My elskan, it is wonderful to see you--but where is your..." Her eyes swivel around, scanning the area; she sees Robbie and lights up. "Ah!" she says. "You must be Robbie!"

Robbie, feeling a bit shell shocked, holds up a hand weakly. "Hi," he manages.

Sportacus vaults back over to Robbie's side. "Robbie! Let me introduce you to my family! This is my Mammi and Pabbi--"

"Hello, son," Sportacus's father says genially, reaching out to shake Robbie's hand. Robbie takes it, blinking.

"--my brothers, the twins, Íthró and Furinn--"

Two identical men, one dressed in yellow ochre and brown, the other in a horrid clashing green and blue, give charming grins and double salutes.

Robbie's heart skips a couple of beats and he holds back a screech. He _recognizes_ the one named Furinn--he'd been in Lazytown before, briefly, though Robbie had done his best to avoid him. Perhaps he doesn't recognize Robbie at all.

"The triplets, my sisters," Sportacus continues, "Alma, Eina, and Lina--"

Three women, also identical, grin and wave as Sportacus calls their names.

"And the quads! Polli, Bjorn, Sela, and Kita!"

The last four nod and pose as Sport calls their names as well.

"N...nine siblings," Robbie says faintly, "you have nine siblings." _And one of them has been here before. Good Gods._

"That's why we're numbered," Íthró says playfully, and sure enough, each of the elves has a number emblazoned on them somewhere. "Sport's the baby!" Furinn guffaws, slapping his knee.

"Ten of ten. You're ten of ten," Robbie says, eyes wide.

"Number ten, yes!" Sportacus laughs and then looks out at his family again. "Guys, I'm so happy to see you, but I fear there's been a misunderstanding!"

Sportacus's mother blinks. "How so, elskan?"

"There's nothing to misunderstand, we're here for the party!" says one of the quads. The other siblings make excited noises of agreement.

"Family, I'm sorry," Sportacus says, holding up his hands, "Robbie is _human_. Humans have _engagement_. They agree to be married _in the future_. It is not immediate!"

Furinn's eyes narrow, his arms cross. "You mean to tell me that Rotten has not made an honest man of you?"

So much for Furinn not recognizing him.

"We are _engaged_ ," Sportacus says again, "the marriage proper occurs at a ceremony, sometimes even years later, and _then_ there is the celebration. I'm sorry, but you're all quite early!"

One of the triplets lets out a loud, disappointed noise. "Humans have the weirdest traditions," she grumbles, arms crossing and whiskers twitching.

_Whiskers?_ Robbie looks a little closer. Sure enough, every elf has them--the women's are thinner and less noticeable, wispy, like cat whiskers, and the men's bushier, styled into mustaches. _Elves_ , Robbie thinks, dazedly.

The whole group seems to deflate. "Oh," Sportacus's mother says, delicately. "Well, my elskan, that is all right. We are all still very happy to see you and your beloved."

Before Sportacus or Robbie can say _anything,_ another voice pipes up behind them.

"Oh _my!"_ Sportacus and Robbie turn to find the Mayor, eyes wide and clutching at his chest. "Oh, my my my! So many people!"

"Mayor!" Sportacus says. "My family has come for a visit!"

"Oh, my," he repeats, "tourists!"

"Your family is _very big_ , Sportacus," Robbie wheezes, operating in a state of low key panic.

A giggle passes through the group. Sportacus's father claps Robbie on the shoulder. "Ah, wait until the other ships arrive," he says with a good natured grin.

"Other ships?! Plural?!" Robbie gasps out, the Mayor cries another _oh my!_ and then there's more noise because the _kids_ show up, clearly attracted by all the sounds and commotion and the _extra airship in the sky,_ and pandemonium ensues.

"The Lazytown tourism board isn't prepared for so many visitors at once!" the Mayor says, wringing his hands.

"Lazytown has a tourism board?" Sportacus asks.

"Yes! I'm the only member!" the Mayor cries.

"Sportacus! Who are all these people?!" Stephanie says loudly over the commotion.

"Everyone's so tall!" Trixie blurts out.

"Stephanie, she's pink just like you!" Ziggy shouts at the top of his lungs, pointing straight at one of the triplets, who does indeed have pink hair _and_ whiskers (albeit a much paler pink than Stephanie's).

"Are these your kids, Sport?" that triplet shouts over the noise. "They're _adorable!"_

Everyone's talking and it's too much. Low key panic coalesces into high key panic. Robbie freezes up, arms wrapping around himself as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. It's _too much noise_ and too many people and he hasn't had any time to mentally prepare and he's just spent the weekend at a convention and he's _filthy--_

Robbie hears the sound of Sportacus's crystal beeping but twelve-fold, and of _course_ every elf has one. At the shrill noise everyone goes blessedly silent, shocked by the sudden sound cutting through the cacophony.

A few seconds of silence pass before Sportacus's mother speaks--softly, this time, though in the quiet it isn't hard to hear her. "Children, we have settling in to do, and preparations to complete before the others arrive," she says lightly. "Mr. Mayor, is there a hotel nearby? My husband and I can sleep in our airship, of course, but there aren't accommodations there for all of my children and their partners and _their_ children..."

"A hotel," the Mayor squeaks. "Downtown, yes, maybe you can get enough rooms? We really--we really don't get many tourists!"

"Wonderful, Mr. Mayor, thank you," she says graciously. She's a striking woman, tall and stockily built with wide shoulders; silver hair cascades in smooth satin waves down her back; she carries clear laugh lines and crow's feet on her face. "How do we get downtown?"

"The bus! Here, allow me to show you!"

The Mayor busily herds the group of elves off toward the bus stop. They call loud see-you-laters and wave furiously before they bound off in the direction the Mayor set them.

Robbie lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, one hand over his chest. Sportacus rubs his back, leans into him comfortingly.

"Sportacus, your family is amazing!" Stephanie says, enthused, eyes wide. "I had no idea they were visiting!"

"Me neither," Sportacus says with an almost apologetic smile. "It is a, ah, surprise visit."

Stephanie blinks. Stingy raises an eyebrow. "All of them at once? Visiting by surprise?" he asks, voice laden with skepticism. Pixel tilts his head and looks at Sportacus over his visor, curious.

"You're telling me," Trixie says, "that a bazillion elves showed up outta nowhere for no reason?"

"I love surprises!" Ziggy squeaks.

Robbie realizes with a sinking feeling that he is _not_ prepared for this conversation in the slightest, he hasn't even had the chance to perform the most _cursory_ of mental rehearsals of revealing his relationship with the town hero. Unfortunately, he also realizes that if he or Sportacus don't let the cat out of the bag now, one of the eleven other elves now in town most certainly will while explaining the whole mix-up. It's better for the kids to hear about it from them, right? Not fair for them to hear about it second or thirdhand. It's now or never. 'Never' makes a good argument, but 'now' wins the debate.

"Um," he ventures, hands clasped together, and he is too tired for this, too overwhelmed, and the kids might have accepted him now but will they accept _this_ , Stephanie took long enough to come to terms with it fully and she's the nicest and most understanding child alive, and nervousness grips him again like a vice with teeth. "Um," he repeats, wringing his hands until his knuckles go white, "uh--"

"What Robbie means to say is that my family is here because in Elven culture, people are married privately when they both agree. There is no engagement. Marriage is instant and then later there is a celebration, when the couple tells their families of it." He takes a deep breath. "They did not realize that were an elf to marry a human, there would be engagement. I wrote them yesterday and... There was a misunderstanding, so today they are here for the party that is not yet happening."

There's silence for a long moment. Robbie wonders idly if he's going to pass out.

"Holy shit," Trixie breathes.

"Trixie," Sportacus says warningly, and is interrupted before he can say anything about her colorful language.

"Wait, let me get this right, you wrote your parents and told them that you and Robbie," Stingy says, "are engaged?"

"Yes," Sportacus says, "because we _are_ engaged."

"Knew it," Pixel says quietly, a grin on his lips. Stingy and Trixie have matching stunned looks on their faces and Stephanie is staying quiet, but looks pleased.

There's a beat of silence before Ziggy tumbles to the realization that there are _weddings_ after engagements. "Ooh! Ooh!" the kid yells, a hand flying into the air and waving furiously, "can I be flower boy?! No! Ring bearer! _No,_ combination ring bearer and flower boy!"

"Sure, kid," Robbie says, because he knows by now to choose his battles wisely.

"We aren't getting married right away, Ziggy--my parents misunderstood," Sportacus explains. Ziggy deflates a bit.

"Are you guys--are you _okay_ with this? Me and Sportaflop dating?" Robbie asks, mind clanging with nerves.

"Well, yeah, it's just a shock," Stingy sniffs.

"Only because you've got your head shoved so far up your--"

"Pixel!" Sportacus cries.

"--bank account statements," Pixel finishes delicately, "that you haven't seen the obvious!"

"Hey now, wise guy, I didn't know either," Trixie snaps, then turns her eyes to Robbie and Sportacus. "How long has this been goin' on?" she asks.

"Since late October," Robbie says. "Really. Are you--"

"Of course I'm okay with it," Trixie says with a wave of her hand. "I mean, it explains a ton of stuff that's been going on recently, so yeah."

"You have my blessing," Stingy says primly, as if that matters a lot.

Trixie snorts. "Yeah, and mine too, or whatever. So whaddya gonna do now that the whole cavalry's come marching home, Sportacus?"

Sportacus gives a helpless shrug. "Ah, I suppose a family reunion, ha ha," he says sheepishly, "a nice vacation for everyone!"

A nice vacation, indeed. Robbie almost laughs. Lazytown doesn't really have a lot of high-profile cultural attractions; there's a _reason_ the city's tourism board consists of one man who's also the mayor. If Robbie were less exhausted he might have said something snarky and clever about that, but he's pretty sure he's never been more tired in his life and that he might be about to master the art of sleeping standing up.

Sportacus seems to sense his distress, _thank gods_. He lays a hand comfortingly on Robbie's back, rubs between his shoulder blades while he addresses the kids. "Anyway, guys, let's let Robbie go get some rest!" He gives a big smile and claps his hands. "And you need to tell me all about the convention!"

All the kids start talking at once and, gratefully, Robbie slinks off and hurries to his bunker before he can be accosted again. He may not be able to sleep for a week, but he can get a shower and a two-hour nap before he has to face the world again.

 

-

 

The bunker is still a disaster area of fabric scraps, strings of hot glue, half-finished and abandoned pieces of Gods-know-what, and endless slivers and shavings of pink insulation foam. Robbie takes a little while to clean the mess up; within half an hour the bunker looks much less catastrophic, if not quite 'respectable.' It's enough. He's _exhausted_. He flops into his chair, pulls his blankets over the top of himself, and is dead to the world within moments.

 

-

 

He wakes up when Sportacus creeps into the bunker; he'd been sleeping lightly, as he generally does when his fiancé isn't with him. "What time is it?" he asks over a yawn.

"Almost eight," Sportacus says, settling beside Robbie in the oversized orange chair and re-situating the blankets over them both. The chair still isn't really big enough for both of them, but by now they're experts at slotting together tightly enough to make it work.

"Has the rest of your family arrived?"

Sportacus nods. "Three ships full. There's people I haven't seen in years. Even old friends from kindergarten," he chuckles lightly.

"Good gods," Robbie huffs. "You're certainly popular."

"Elves take weddings seriously," Sportacus says on a little shrug. "Elven society is used to wedding celebrations at short notice. Usually celebrations are in the North but even in situations like this, employers understand when people need to take a few days off to attend a celebration. Still, Lazytown is awfully far away from the North," Sportacus says. "They did make it here surprisingly quickly."

"So how long will they all be staying?"

"They scheduled for a week."

Robbie twines his legs with Sportacus's, idly laces his their fingers together, strokes Sportacus's thumb with his own. "Well," he says slowly, casually, "they're all here. We _could_ just do it anyway. It's a convenient opportunity. To get married, I mean."

Sportacus's blue eyes widen, his mustache-- _whiskers,_ Robbie corrects himself--quivers a little and he _grins_. "Yes, it is a convenient opportunity, they moved earth and the Meadow Green to get all the way here on such short notice and I'd hate to make them do it again," he says. "I--would you want to? Get married?"

"Are we really going to go through this again?" Robbie jokes, nudging Sportacus's knee with his own. "Of course I want to, Sportakook. Let's do it. And by Elven standards haven't we been married for months now? Ever since we got engaged?"

Sportacus looks down, almost shyly. "No," he says, quiet, "you didn't know. It only is marriage if both parties _know_ it is."

Robbie's stomach does acrobatic flips to rival Sportacus at his most energetic. "Well, I know _now_ ," he says, "I don't know the actual tradition and we've still gotta get married according to _human_ laws, but..."

Sportacus looks up at him, blinking, trusting.

"I marry you," Robbie ventures, hopes that's the correct thing to say. "How's that?"

"That's perfect," Sportacus says, and his sudden rolling purr is loud enough to wake the town. "I marry you, Robbie, I do," he replies, and when Robbie kisses him he can feel the elf smiling.

Robbie pulls back, rests his forehead against Sportacus's. "Sportahusband," he says, giggling at the absurdity.

"Sportaspouse has a better ring to it," Sportacus says with a cheeky smirk, and Robbie laughs even harder.

 

-

 

"A marriage license?" the Mayor asks, eyes wide. "For--for you? The both of you? Together?"

"Yes, Mayor," Sportacus says. "Robbie and I have been engaged for months now and together longer than that. We'd like to be married, all my family is here, and--"

"Oh, how wonderful!" the Mayor warbles. "Oh, I do love a wedding! Let me see, I think I have the licensing paperwork around here somewhere!"

Robbie grins. Apparently Stephanie's good nature runs in the family, but her canny wariness doesn't--which is good, because Robbie isn't prepared for an inquisition. With a few signatures and a quick payment Robbie and Sportacus have the license in hand.

"It seems silly that you must pay to be married," Sportacus says, wrinkling his nose a bit as they step back out of City Hall.

"Yes, well..." Robbie pauses and looks out over the sports field across the way, teeming with adult elves and kids--both the familiar gang of scamps and a handful of Elven children, Sportacus's nieces and nephews, no doubt. Everyone's having a good time, raucous and loud. It's a beautiful morning, Robbie has to admit. "It's good to see that not everyone in your family does flips," Robbie says, nudging Sportacus lightly with his elbow.

Sportacus laughs. "No, no, not every elf is born a gymnast, Robbie."

"That's a relief. So when do you want to do this whole..." Robbie makes a few nondescript hand gestures. "Wedding thing?"

"I was thinking tomorrow morning. We'll have the whole day to plan."

"Ah yes, the whole day," Robbie echoes, fondly incredulous. "Well, fine. Why not. Let's do it."

Sportacus grins and taps at his crystal in its housing. It lights up and within seconds the elves on the sports field are going still, their own crystals lighting up too--some of the elves have them on necklaces or on their hats or pinned to their clothes--though without sound. They turn, inquisitive, in Sportacus's direction, smiling and waving at the sight of him.

"That's a neat trick," Robbie says.

"Empathy stones are very useful," Sportacus replies, "the rest of the family is on the way, so--time for an announcement!"

He grasps Robbie's hand and tugs him down toward the sports field.

 

-

 

Sportacus's family is overjoyed and delighted and the celebration will begin tomorrow after the legal ceremony and it will likely go on for a few days, if Sportacus knows his family at all.

He watches, fond, as Robbie dazedly interacts with them all. His siblings seem to like Robbie, and Robbie is shaking a lot of hands and making a lot of greetings and he's doing his best, he's really trying, and Sportacus loves him.

Alma breaks off from the pack and approaches Sportacus where he sits on a fence; she leans against it and bumps her head against his softly. "Hey, little brother," she chirps. Sportacus can hear her distinctively wheezy purr as she greets him; he smiles and automatically his purr starts up in return.

"Hello," he says, nudging his head back against hers. "So how do you like Robbie?"

Alma grins, whiskers twitching lightly. "Well, he is certainly an odd one," she says, reaching up to idly fidget with her empathy stone which sits in the jewelry of one gauged ear. "I like him. He's bright and kind, if a little..." She searches for words. "Unusual," she settles on finally, with tact, and Sportacus almost laughs. "But then again, I can't see you with anyone _usual_ , Sport."

"He is that," he agrees.

"He's a good fit," Alma says. "And I like your kids. They're sweet and smart and I like them. They're good for you."

"They needed me," Sportacus says. "They needed _us_. Robbie and me both."

"Well," she says, "you've made a good call. Your family here is a good one."

"How are _your_ beloved and children?"

Alma smiles wide and nods over to the sports field where her mate and two girls are playing hopscotch with Ziggy. "Ah, she is as radiant and beautiful as always," Alma purrs, "and the children are as brilliant as ever. They've missed their uncle Sportacus," she says, nudging him again. "You must bring your beloved and children to the North sometime."

"I would love to, but I don't know if that will be possible anytime soon."

"Ah, just pack them all in your luggage and whisk them away." Alma smiles. "Now, I heard that Polli and Lina want to drag you off to get a suit before tomorrow. Ithro might go along if you don't hurry up and we all know his taste is the _actual_ worst," she says, shuddering at the apparent thought of Ithro's clashing colors, "so you'd better get going!"

"A suit!" Sportacus gasps. Oh, gods, he does need a suit, he only owns repeats of what he always wears; Robbie will of course look dashing and Sportacus must also--

He relaxes and smiles.

Robbie will love him no matter what he wears. Robbie will always love him. Robbie is his _husband_.

Still though, he thinks, the suit is a good idea.

"Ithro can come along if he wants," Sportacus says.

"You're a braver elf than I. Just keep him at arm's length," Alma warns, "unless you want to get married in turquoise and mustard yellow."

 

-

 

Robbie isn't sure how many elves he introduced himself to today because he lost count a little after forty-five. He figures, very conservatively, that it's probably in the low trillions.

The tiredness from the convention has been compounded. He slept last night but it feels as if he hasn't really gotten much rest--he's been surrounded by people all day, and while not every elf is as energetic as Sportacus (thank gods), it's still a large group of people that is demanding Robbie's attention and personal interaction. It isn't as if he's surrounded by strangers who want nothing to do with him, like at the convention; no, all these elves want individual face time.

He's managed to slip away back to his bunker, finally, citing a need to work on his tuxedo for tomorrow (and take a nap) to those who noticed him leaving. It's not a lie. He really _is_ looking through his clothing display system for a suitable outfit, singing softly under his breath, rocking back and forth a little on his heels. Sportacus has been gone with a few of his siblings for the afternoon, apparently making wedding preparations of their own.

Robbie smiles, quietly glad that they got married alone, too, privately, with no fanfare and no audience. It was a good wedding, just the two of them. Elves have the right idea.

He's dreamily lost in memory for a moment before he shakes himself and refreshes his outfit display once again. He's eyeing the new selection critically when he hears a knock at the bunker hatch.

It's not Sportacus's knock. Sportacus doesn't really knock, usually, but when he does it's usually softer and accompanied by a call of Robbie's name. This knock is a hard rat-tat and Robbie goes stiff with uncertainty, freezing for a second before he moves to his periscope and peers into it.

"Hello!" he hears loudly, because there is Furinn staring right into the periscope's lenses. Robbie almost screams; Furinn continues. "I wanted to speak with you! Do you have a few minutes?"

Furinn. Number Nine. Sport's older brother. Robbie swallows, his suddenly painfully dry throat clicking. "Ah, yes," he says, though all he wants to do is climb into the rafters and hide there. "The hatch is unlocked, come in!"

Robbie wonders, desperately, what Furinn wants with him. Perhaps his luck has finally run out for good and he's about to be cheerily smashed to bits by an elf twice his size and about a million times his strength for even daring to _look_ at Sportacus.

Moments later Furinn is scrambling down the hatch and into Robbie's living room, standing up straight and dusting himself off. "Hello!" he says, giving a smile and a tiny wave. "I know you're busy with marriage preparations and--other human things," he says haltingly, "Sportacus's children have been busy all day too and have swept some of my siblings up in the festivities and I can't stay long but I wanted to talk."

He speaks quickly and in a voice more thickly accented than Sportacus's, probably because he's just spent less time out of the North. The accent sounds Nordic of some flavor, which makes sense, because the Elven North is located geographically fairly close to many Scandinavian countries. Robbie doesn't know much about the Elven language but it makes sense that it would borrow some of its sound and structure from Nordic languages.

Robbie resists the urge to ask _what did you want to talk about?!_ "Ah, here, please, take a seat," he says, dragging a stool over from his workbench and motioning toward it.

"Thank you," Furinn says with another blinding smile and settles down with a flourish. Robbie sits gingerly in his orange chair, legs delicately crossed.

"So, ah, what can I do for you?"

Furinn nods graciously. "Mr. Rotten. Robbie," he says, slowly. "You've probably noticed that all of us, Sportacus's siblings, are multiples. Twins, triplets, quads..." Robbie nods and Furinn continues. "It is not luck that our family is as such. Elves have multiples, always. Singles mean something is wrong with a pregnancy." Furinn leans forward, takes his hat off and holds it in his lap. "Singles don't often survive," he says. "Sportacus was born three and a half months early."

"Oh, gods," Robbie murmurs.

"It's hard not to see that he's much smaller than the rest of us," Furinn says, eyes downcast. "That he survived his first six months was a miracle, Robbie. He was a sickly child. We weren't sure he'd make it to adulthood."

"What was...what was wrong with him?"

"I'm sure you've noticed that he can't process large amounts of refined sugar?"

"That's not just an elf thing?"

Furinn almost laughs. "No, that is not an elf thing. Elves enjoy sweets! Keebler is an elf-owned company!" He does chuckle at that before he goes solemn once more. "And--elves do not usually have allergies. It is...almost unheard of, to be allergic to anything, much less..." He closes his eyes. "Not only was Sportacus born premature, but we did not understand his intolerance to refined sugar, Robbie. He was being poisoned for much of his childhood and we had no idea what was wrong."

Robbie cringes imagining Sportacus in a constant state of lethargy and near-catatonia. Of course they didn't think he'd make it. The he cringes remembering all the times he fed Sportacus sugar apples and threw him unrepentantly into a meltdown. It's not _normal_ for elves to do that. He was surely making Sportacus relive his childhood, tired and sick, and Sportacus never said a word about it.

"How old was he when you figured it out?" Robbie manages.

"Almost eight," Furinn says. "And then we finally pinned down the problem and--and it was as if all the life stolen from him in those first eight years came back all at once. He hasn't lost it since." He smiles. "We didn't think he'd live and then he went and shocked us and became the--the incredible person he is."

Robbie is speechless for a moment. "Thank you," he says, "Sportacus never--never told me any of this."

Furinn gives a wry smile. "Of course not. Being the youngest and weakest, he was, how do you say--" he pauses, searches for words, "--babied, all his life. He does not want any more sympathy. I think that's why he left the North, because he knew we'd always see him as that sickly child clinging to breath by a fraying thread." He sighs. "We all hoped he'd come back. But then he found this town and these children who needed him, and...that was that." Furinn takes a deep breath. "We all care for Sportacus very much," he says.

"Yes, of course you do." Robbie holds back a flinch: this is it, the shovel talk, the threats are coming--or maybe he's about to be straight-up stuffed down a wood chipper or something. He braces himself.

"I've been in this town before. I've seen you in action. I know you, Robbie Rotten," Furinn says, soberly, eyes downcast, "and I'm afraid for my brother because of it." He meets Robbie's eyes. "But I also trust my brother's judgement. So all I can do is plead with you to be the man he thinks you are. The man I want to believe you are." He takes a deep breath. "Please, be good to my baby brother."

That was worse than any shovel talk Robbie could have conceived in his most wild nightmares; he feels like he's been hit with a truck. No pressure, he thinks a little hysterically. Furinn is _begging_ him and it's _awful_.

"I'll try," is what he blurts out, "I'll try to be good enough, to be worthy of him, I swear."

Furinn smiles for the first time since arriving in the bunker. "Then I can rest easy," he says, putting his hat back on his head. "Now, I believe my new nieces and nephews have challenged me to a volleyball game!" He stands up, all traces of solemnity gone and replaced with eager playfulness. "I must go at once! Goodbye, Robbie!"

And within seconds he's scrambled back up the tube and out of the bunker and when Robbie hears the hatch door swing closed behind him, he curls his knees up to his chest and breathes slow for a long moment.

 

-

 

It's maybe an hour (maybe four) later when Robbie hears someone else wrenching his hatch open and scrambling down. Judging by the sounds it's a small person, not an adult; with all the elves in town it could be one of their kids, maybe, or--

Stephanie shuffles out of the tube and Robbie lets it a sigh of relief. "Hi, Robbie," she says with a smile, dusting herself off as she straightens up.

"You here to give me the shovel talk too?" he asks, playful but semi-serious. He lifts his safety goggles; he was actually just finishing wrestling some steel into the shapes of two wedding bands. "Yadda yadda, if I hurt Sportacus you'll kill me and bury me in the woods and nobody will ever find my body, whatever, blah blah--"

"Didn't I already give you that talk?" she says, teasingly. "I'm here to tell you that I'm gonna be your best man."

"You what?"

"Best woman. Stop nitpicking," she says.

A wry smile passes over Robbie's face. "I figured you'd be Sportacus's best woman," he says.

"Sportacus's entire family is here," she says, delicately. "You only have us kids. So someone's gotta step up and be your best man and that someone's gonna be me," she says with a decisive nod, and Robbie gets the distinct feeling that he doesn't have a choice in the matter--not that he'd choose any differently. Actually, judging by the warm feeling rising in his chest, he's actually extremely pleased.

"Well, I guess that's fine," he says airily, with a wave of his hand, but he can't quit smiling. "Who's Sportacus's best man?"

"He says elves don't have those but Ithro yelled over him that he was gonna be best man and then Furinn said it was gonna be him and then he and Ithro started kinda brawling so I don't really know what's going on," she says with a sheepish shrug.

Robbie's eyebrows shoot up. "Brawling?"

"Friendly brawling. Like two cats who're friends," she explains.

_Elves,_ Robbie thinks for probably the eighty-fourth time today.

"Anyway," Stephanie says, "nobody walks elves down the aisle at weddings because there's no aisle--there's not really much of a ceremony, apparently, except for something about eating flowers--"

"What?"

"I'm not clear on the details," she says, holding out her palm, "anyway, so I'm gonna walk Sport down because--someone's gotta! Oh," she adds, "and you can't see Sportacus until the wedding."

Robbie hears a record scratch. "What?"

"It's tradition," Stephanie says firmly, closed hands planted on her hips.

"I...probably won't be able to sleep very well without Sportacus here, kid." He hates to admit that, but it's true, and if he ever needed sleep tonight was the night.

"Yeah, Sportacus was worried that you wouldn't be able to fall asleep without someone here, so--" she slings her backpack off her shoulders and opens it up, "--I brought my pillow."

Robbie laughs for a split second before he realizes that Stephanie is _dead serious._

"You don't have to stay over, Pinky," he says, finally. "Really."

"I know I don't have to," she says, hands on her hips again. "So are you all ready for tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he says, "of course. I'm the very picture of composure and preparation," he adds with a carefully constructed air of overblown, pompous confidence.

Stephanie giggles. "Well, that's good! Sportacus's whole family has been buzzing around doing a bunch of stuff. They're kinda going to bed now, though, and you should too!"

"Hm? What time is it?"

"Almost ten," she says. "You're getting up bright and early, so..." She steps over to him and gently starts herding him toward the bathroom. "Go get ready for bed!"

"Bed already?!"

"Yes! Go brush your teeth!"

"Ugh, yes, ma'am," Robbie groans, but obeys her. He changes into his pajamas while he's at it, gets out his blankets too.

"Do you just sleep right there in your chair?" Stephanie asks.

"It's a recliner," Robbie says, settling in and pulling the lever, because he feels like he's not going to get anywhere arguing with Stephanie.

"Huh," she says, and immediately tucks him in, makes sure the blanket is snug around his feet before she darts over and switches off the main bunker lights. There's always a bit of light in the bunker from various machines and pieces of equipment, though. Stephanie disappears off to the bathroom, presumably to brush her teeth too.

Robbie's just starting to feel like he might actually be able to drift off when he feels her pad over and perch on one of the chair's arm rests. "Robbie?" she ventures quietly.

"Mmrhgh?"

"I'm really glad you and Sportacus are getting married."

"So you won't be objecting at the wedding? Thank gods above," Robbie mumbles, and Stephanie giggles and swats him lightly.

"I'll probably hold my peace," she says. "Now scoot over!"

"Scoot--?!" Robbie blinks and Stephanie's already wormed her way into the chair beside him. He huffs and does move over. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Didn't bring my sleeping bag, thought you slept in a bed like a human being and I'd take the chair," she says, "I'm not sleeping on the floor, so deal with it."

Robbie snorts a little laugh. She's small enough so they can both fit with no problem at all. "If you steal my blankets off me I'm pushing you onto the floor," he warns.

"I'd like to see you try," she shoots back.

Robbie chuckles again, closes his eyes. Stephanie isn't Sportacus, but it's still nice to have someone around. He listens as her breathing goes steady, as she falls asleep; her head drops to rest against Robbie's arm.

_I'd do anything for this kid._ A rush of protectiveness hits Robbie and he's not sure what to do with it; there's nothing to protect her _from,_ so the defensive energy sort of fizzles and morphs into general affection, but a more ferocious kind.

_I'd do anything for any of them,_ he realizes, _without even hesitating._

_Is this what being a parent is like?_

The thought should scare him, but it doesn't. The fact that the thought doesn't scare him should scare him. Still, it doesn't.

Stephanie snuffles quietly in her sleep--Robbie has the irrational thought that she takes after Sportacus--and tugs a little at the covers. Robbie carefully arranges the covers over her, disregarding the fact that he's now a bit uncovered. Oh well. He smiles despite himself.

He closes his eyes, relaxed and warm; his mind starts to float toward unconsciousness and his last thought before he drifts off is _there's no way I deserve to be this happy._

 

-

 

The air is clear and crisp and the sun is just painting the town with golden light; it's early, far earlier than Robbie would normally haul himself from the bed, but he is suffering no fatigue whatsoever. He stands on the front steps of City Hall in his deep royal purple suit (and flowers in his hair; at least four elves made sure he got flowers in his hair), tens and dozens of elves around, his nerves jangling in his head and chest like a string of bells as he waits for Sportacus and Stephanie. Mayor Meanswell stands with him, smiling like a fool; he'll be officiating the wedding and he's apparently excited about it. Taller people are in the back of the crowd, smaller people and children are in front. Stingy, Trixie, Ziggy, and Pixel are all within easy sight at what passes for the front row.

Robbie shivers. He's nervous and he can't articulate why at first; it's not as if he doesn't want to get married, no, he does, more than anything. So why is he anxious?

_Please, be good to my baby brother._ He hears Furinn's voice in his head, senses Furinn's eyes on him. He swallows hard. Can he be good? Is he a good person? Does he deserve this, really? Is Sportacus making a huge mistake?

The crowd parts and Robbie sees Sportacus, Stephanie holding his hand. He looks beautiful, wearing a powder-blue tuxedo--of course, Robbie thinks with a grin, it should look terrible but it doesn't, he skipped a ruffled shirt, thank the gods--and his hat is gone, revealing his untamed halo of blond curls with flowers woven in.

He sees Robbie and his grin could provide enough light to illuminate the entire town for a year. Robbie feels _bright_ inside, his anxiety melting away.

Sportacus wants to marry him.

He _trusts_ Sportacus. And if this is what Sportacus wants to do, well, he can't be wrong. Maybe he's not wrong about Robbie either. Maybe he's a good person.

Maybe he _does_ deserve this.

Robbie feels himself smiling too, a hysterical little giggle bubbling in his throat. Stephanie doesn't end up so much walking him down the aisle as she does run alongside him, because Sportacus breaks into a jog, as if he can't bear to take the time that walking would cost.

"Thank you, Stephanie," Sportacus says, bends down to hug her; she kisses him on the cheek before she takes her place next to Robbie and Sportacus climbs onto the steps of City Hall to stand _before_ Robbie; he reaches out and takes Robbie's hands.

"Nice tux," Robbie whispers, and Sportacus smiles ever-more.

"You look beautiful," he praises in return.

"Oh, my," Mayor Meanswell says, clears his throat. "Ah, are we all here?"

The crowd makes noise; soft cheers of _yes! present! here!,_ and Mayor Meanswell blinks a few times. "Oh my my my, ah, I've never--done this before, this is all so exciting!"

"You're doing great," Sportacus says, and Robbie almost snorts.

"Mr. Sportacus, do you take Robbie Rotten to--have and to--health and--" The poor mayor flounders and drops his notes, makes to pick them up but then just looks helplessly up at Sportacus. "Do you want to marry him?" he squeaks.

"Oh, yes, Mayor, I do," Sportacus says effusively.

The Mayor turns to Robbie. "Robbie Rotten, do you--" Apparently he decides not to even try to get out _to have and to hold_ and honestly Robbie doesn't mind. "Do you want to marry Sportacus?"

Robbie holds back the urge to say _I'm here, aren't I?_ "Of course I do," he says, and Sportacus shakes like a happy puppy, squeezes Robbie's hands.

"Oh, how grand," the Mayor warbles out, "then by the power vested in me by--by me being the mayor and holding elected office, I now pronounce you husband and--I now pronounce you husbands! You're married! By all means, kiss each other!"

It's the clumsiest wedding ceremony that Robbie has ever seen. It's also his very favorite. Sportacus pulls him closer and they meet in the middle; they're both smiling and shaking and happy and Robbie can _feel_ it.

The crowd cheers and breaks into applause, and then there's a loud voice. "Wait! _Milfooooord!"_

"Yes, Ms. Busybody?"

Bessie shoulders to the front of the crowd. "You forgot the _rings!"_

Ziggy squeaks loudly and skitters forward. "Here's the rings!" he shouts, sticking out his hand, "an', an', here's the flowers you gotta eat!"

Robbie blinks. "Stephanie wasn't kidding," he murmurs.

Sportacus takes the rings first; they slip them on each others' fingers, and then Sportacus takes the flowers. "Thank you, Ziggy!"

"You're welcome!" Ziggy says back.

Robbie eyes the flowers; they're a light apricot color and they look like violets. "Uh," he says.

Sportacus's eyes sparkle; he holds one of the flowers up to Robbie's lips. "It is traditional," he says playfully, and once again Robbie wonders if he's being pranked, but damn it, he's marrying an elf and if he has to eat a flower, so be it. He opens his mouth and Sportacus sets the little flower on his tongue. The flavor is mild and sweet and not terrible. Robbie chews and swallows with no complaint before offering one to Sportacus in return.

The moment the flower is in Sportacus's mouth, the cheering is absolutely deafening and the whole crowd surges forward to envelop them, hugs and kisses and congratulations and music starts up from somewhere, and Ziggy's clinging to them both, and Robbie's pretty overwhelmed but he can't stop smiling.

 

-

 

There is a lot of singing and dancing and eating, which is exactly what Robbie expected from a party, and he and Sportacus are not left alone for a single second. Everyone wants to corner them to wish them congratulations or ask questions or give gifts (flowers are common, as are small sculptures and shiny things) or drag them off for dances.

Robbie's pretty sure he's surviving on coffee and Tylenol by the time the sun sets and by ten PM his legs would be hurting if he was sure he _had_ legs anymore. He's danced with every elf, it seems, and Stephanie and the rest of the kids (Ziggy stood on his feet the whole time) and he's not certain that he'll ever get feeling in the soles of his feet back, but hey.

The sports field is lit by lanterns now, tent pavilion set up in the midst of it, and Robbie's finally caught a moment to himself. He catches his husband's _(his husband's!)_ eyes across the crowd and Sportacus grins at the sight of him, pleased, but visibly tired.

Oh, this all must be so difficult for him. Even though elves all have empathy stones so it's less tiring for Sportacus to be around them, it's still a massive number of people--Sportacus's energy is flagging.

Robbie makes his way over to Sportacus, around the edges of the group so as not to be accosted; he's still accosted once or twice but is able to shake them off quickly and politely enough. He sidles up next to Sportacus, who immediately smiles and leans his shoulder against Robbie's arm.

"Hi," Robbie says, twining his fingers with Sportacus's.

"Hello, husband," Sportacus says over his purr. Robbie shivers.

"I'm...pretty sure I'll never get tired of that," Robbie replies. Sportacus gives a little laugh, rests his head against Robbie's shoulder.

"Look at our family," Sportacus murmurs.

Robbie's eyes sweep over the crowd. Pixel is clumsily putting the moves on an Elven teenager who's giggling and playing with their hair in response. Ziggy is asleep in the grass in a haphazard pile with a bunch of other tuckered-out elf children. Stephanie is laughing with Lina, the triplet with pink hair. Sportacus's parents are slow dancing, looking ridiculously in love with each other, as are Mayor Milford and Ms. Busybody, who are giggling softly and sharing whispered jokes. Ithro and Furinn seem to be having a drinking contest; Alma and her partner are sitting down and watching their children play with Stingy and Trixie.

"Our family," Robbie repeats quietly, disbelieving. "Our family," he says again, a little louder; pride and warmth rise in his chest. "I don't know if I'm any good at having one of those."

Sportacus looks up at him and grins. "Well, lucky for you, you have all the time in the world to practice!" He steps toward the dance floor, pulling Robbie after him. "C'mon, Robbie, dance with me?"

"You're so tired you're almost falling over, Sportaspouse."

Sportacus laughs. "Yes, well. I can sleep after the celebration, right?"

"Doesn't the celebration go on for three days?"

"Then I'll sleep when I can't dance anymore!"

Robbie grins and giggles a little deliriously and his feet are still kind of numb and he's pretty sure he's never been happier as he follows his husband onto the dance floor.

 

**Author's Note:**

> and even after 84 years, NOBODY tells the mayor what to do
> 
> i'm pretty sure there's a 6th fic that's going to happen eventually but it'll probably be another 84 years before that gets posted so  
> also i just noticed the word count is exactly 11,111 i swear to god that was an accident
> 
> title from "chase this light" by jimmy eat world which is a nice song about getting married


End file.
